Who| Steve and Anyone!What| This feels too much like sitting around and waiting to die. Or a catchall for before and during the first Hell-rena.Where| Everywhere.When| Weeks 1 & 2 (or the week before and week of the first Hell-rena)Warnings/Notes| Mild language and violence, update as needed.

Watching videos of past arenas can only make someone so prepared for the real thing, but actually being here is far more chaotic and unpredictable than the videos ever depicted. This place is a veritable wonderland of possibilities. Steve really has no idea what to expect.

But still, he didn't expect it to be this, well, calm. Sure, he got attacked on the first day and he's had to fight off some nasty creatures here and there during the days after, even ran had a few peaceful encounters with people, but the fog acts as a blanket over a birdcage, making everything quiet. Too quiet maybe.

He just didn't know exactly what too quiet would lead to, but he was smart enough to know it would be no good.

When the sirens first blare, Steve immediately goes to find his allies, so he can get them somewhere safe; the noise is an all too familiar sound from his days in the war. But then the fog clears and temperature rises with unnatural speed, the walls dissolving instead of the telling sounds of planes and bombs, well, wasn't hard to catch on.

[ooc: I'm going to comment some prompts below, feel free to use them or, if you rather, you can leave me a prompt! I'm open to anything, including some scuffles. Just make sure to specify when it's for so I know where it fits in. You can use the prompts as an idea for what's going on during those times.

Also, prose or bracket RP is fine by me, I don't have a preference, so do which ever you prefer.]

Re: Hell-rena Prompt

By now Alex isn't doing too hot. He doesn't know it, but when they built his chassis, OmniCorp had just assumed he'd always have access to a controlled environment at least once every few days for "little" things like maintenance, glucose solutions, blood cleansing. Everything that keeps him alive instead of dying inside the world's most expensive tin can. They hadn't thought he'd be stumbling around a Dali painting from hell, staggering like a drunk.

Somewhere along the way he lost Clara. Alex tries to grab onto that but between heat stroke and the fact he simply wasn't built to live on his own anymore, he finds that something as simple as thinking slides away. Stuff blurs together. The grinding sound goes from just grating to the point where he can feel it vibrating in his bones, across the roof of his mouth. It seems more real than Clara and memories of Detroit.

His HUD seems to be doing better than he is. As he puts one foot in front of the other, it tries to reroute him, signaling [ SHELTER - IMMEDIATE LEFT ] and [MALE, CAUCASIAN; AGE_?? BIOMETRIC READ ERROR] and that's about the part where Alex finally checks out.

He pitches forward a few yards away from Steve Rogers, this big black shape that hits the ground with a deafening thud as Alex unceremoniously passes out from the heat.

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He heard the footsteps before he saw the man, turning to look at him and seeing something much more akin to Iron Man than a normal person. The footsteps had sounded very heavy, much like Stark's when in his suit. But there's no time to think about that as the man hits the ground.

No, the only thing he thinks about is getting over to the man while looking around to make sure there are no other immediate threats. Seeing none, Steve kneels down by the man, rolling him over on to his back with ease.

First he tries to move the HUD, but when it doesn't move easily, well, Steve isn't going to Thor it off, just in case that makes things worse. Instead, he checks if he's still breathing and feels what skin he can for his temperature.

Shit, this guy is totally overheating, he needs to get him inside and now.

With some effort, he hoists the man up and against his shoulder as he stands with some difficulty due to the weight. If he had to walk too far, he would have had to drag the guy, but luckily the theatre is right at his back. Once inside, Steve sets the man down against the wall, double checking that he's still breathing as he gets some water and a shred of curtain to dab the guy's face in hopes to help him cool off faster.

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Alex doesn't seem to recover immediately. His head hangs down, the silver visor hiding his eyes, and his legs don't so much as wobble like a man's as drag like there's no muscle. In short, he's several hundred pounds of dead weight for Steve to drag, his feet making a dull scrapping sound that might draw the monsters out there.

Once inside the theater, Aex slides down with a clunk of graphene platting rubbing up against the wall. It takes a few minutes before he starts to revive, Alex groaning as he wonders what the hell that is rubbing at his cheek. It's wet, cool. He hopes it's not one of those things out there taste-testing him. All he knows is he feels like crap: his head swims, a thick layer of saliva on his tongue like he wants to puke but doesn't know if he even has the internal organs to manage. His eyes flutter open as the visor retracts away from a face that's gone several shades too pale.

He stares up at Steve - or, more accurately, he seems to stare at a point past him, because for some reason he's having trouble focusing. "What's..." Alex swallows thickly, trying again. "What's going on? Who're you?"

The HUD runs with static as he tries to figure out if he knows this guy or not. He's got one of those faces, the one that his gut instinct says he could trust. Alex wishes he could trust him. But he knows in the back of his mind that they’re both Tributes and there’s only so far the Good Samaritan act will go.

Alex struggles to push himself to his feet, stabilizers whining. A servo creaks loudly, something that’s too dark to be blood oozing out a hole in his side and smelling faintly of ozone.

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The paleness of the man's face and his inability to focus already had him concerned - those were not good signs - but it only seems to get worse when the man tries to stand.

Steve places his hands on the man's shoulders, trying to gently push him down to sit. The smell of ozone reaches his nose, making him look down to the hole and liquid that's coming out of the man's suit, or worse the man himself. Shit, this guy is way worse off than he thought.

"I'm Steve. I dragged you inside after you passed out, so you need to take a minute to sit, okay? I'm not going to kill you after the effort it took to get you in here," Steve keeps his voice level, trying to instil into him the calm Steve's portraying. Much like he would with injured soldiers on the field. "Trust me, you're no feather."

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Alex catches himself slurring, his eyebrows drawn together as he concentrates on things like words and speaking up. For some reason he focuses on: " - You dragged me?"

There's something weird about that and it takes him awhile to click that into place: there's no way he managed to lift him by himself. No way. Alex doesn't know exactly how much he weighs with the chassis, but he's assuming in the ballpark of a few hundred pounds he didn't have before. Maybe.

Says a lot for Steve's people skills because Alex feels like he should be worried than he already is. Especially when he starts to stand up and to his shock, Steve actually pushes him back down like he's a kid. Alex plunks back down against the wall, his surprise written all over his face.

"Uh. Sorry. I'm Alex." He at least remembers his name, despite how crappy he feels right. "How'd you drag me in here again?"

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Steve tries not to use too much of his strength, he doesn't want to cause anymore injury to the other man. The hole in Alex's side is already concerning enough, but he's glad when the other man finally settles, even if that's mostly on Steve's account.

"With a lot of effort," the humor is dry, using it more to defuse the situation. Trying to lower the stress of it. For Steve, it wasn't actually that difficult to drag him in, actually he carried most of the weight, but it was very awkward and dead weight is the worst. So, yeah, there was still some effort.

"I know it might not feel it, but you're safe for right now, Alex. I'll stick around until you're on your feet again, okay?" He keeps the calm voice, making sure it comes off as protective and reassuring.

"So, how about you drink some water and collect your thoughts, then we can talk," Steve offers his water bottle, ready to help him drink it if needed. And he knows he shouldn't be offering out his limited supplies like this, that he's running low on water, but this guy needs it more than Steve does.

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Cute. The guy can make jokes in the middle of a death match. Alex almost, almost finds himself starting to smile, despite everything. "Appreciate it."

He reaches out, aware of something vibrating along an arm that he's convinced might not be all there underneath the suit. Feels real, though. It feels as real as Steve, who has this whole wholesome Kansas vibe to him or something. Alex catches himself thinking it's the swept hair or the jaw and then realizes he's definitely got heat stroke or something. Taking the water bottle, he sips it gratefully, expecting to feel it going down his throat down to his stomach. It makes it to his mouth, he can feel it swish in his mouth...but when he swallows, he loses track of it. It's like it just goes through a net or something.

Alex tries again, doing his damnedest not to panic. Same thing. Maybe he can't drink anymore. Or the suit doesn't let him.

In denial, he tells himself it's just how crappy he's feeling right now. Of course he can drink. He'll feel in later, that's all. Alex cradles the water bottle as he looks up at Steve. The motion would've been a drunken loll if he'd had a neck with bones and tendons and muscle.

"Thanks," Alex reaches up to wipe his mouth. "You're way too decent for this place, y'know."

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Yes, he excels in being able to use dry or deadpan humor in some of the worst situations. It's part of how he copes.

Steve watches him carefully, more to see if the man is recovering, if he needs help. Yet, as he looks at Alex for those signs, he can see the conflicting emotions on the man's face. Able to see how the man is struggling with some internal conflict of his own. The rapid shift to one emotion to another, settling on something that strikes Steve as a mask of some kind.

Part of him wants to ask about it, but Steve doesn't poke into the other man's business. At least not with how unfamiliar they are right now.

"Well, couldn't very well leave you out there to bake." What can he say, he's invested in life, not death.

Still, that hole in the guy's side is a concern. "This suit of yours, are you able to take it off?" Steve wants to see that wound better, try to patch him up, but if the Gamemakers let him keep it on, well, that says something.

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Alex almost shoots back with actually yeah, you could've left me out there but decides to keep his damn mouth shut. Steve seems like a decent guy. Nice. Real nice. The kind you wouldn't really see that often in Detroit. He doesn't want to give him any second thoughts like cyborg's being dead weight, drinking all the limited water. Least he could do was be a good guest.

"Don't think so," Alex shakes his head in this purely horizontal side-to-side that looks vaguely wrong, like an animatronic playing at being human. "It's acting like life support or something. Why'd you ask?"

Seems like he hasn't noticed the hole himself and once he sees it, he's not going to take it too well. Alex has had it up to here with his new body. He appreciates all the effort Steve put to drag his sorry ass in here but he doesn't like the look in the other man's face. It's not exactly pitying, thank God.

Alex starts to make another motion like he wants to get up, something in his arm clicking as he raises it and braces it against the wall. The motion increases the trickle of lubricant, the black-red fluid glistening as he shifts.

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The liquid really doesn't look like blood, so the chance of an injury is slim. Maybe it was some kind of oil for the suit? Maybe a coolant? It would explain the overheating. If it's life support, than whatever is leaking out of it could be endangering the man.

"Woah, not so fast," Steve grabs Alex's arm and keeps him from standing. He doesn't want to exert force if he doesn't have to, but he doesn't plan to let this man get up just yet. "Your suit has some damage, just let me take a look, see if I can fix it."

Maybe he can stuff it with something? Where's Stark when he actually needs him.

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Normally he'd be taking this a little better: Detroit and cops don't mean you can look forward to a cushy retirement. He'd expected one of these days he'd get tagged on the job. Sure, he prepared himself for that. Saw it happen some other officers. He probably would've taken "you got shot/your legs broken/etc" over that one word, like he got into a fender bender or he ruptured a fuel line. Alex swallows reluctantly as he stops where he is, glancing at Steve's hand on his arm.

"Anything I can do to, uh, to help out?" It occurs to him that wasn't the smartest question he's asked, ever. It's not like he knows about how this rig works anymore than a total stranger like Steve does.

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"Well-" how do you tell someone they have a hole in them when they are obviously not taking it well already, "I'd say- it'sa hole. One that's leaking oil," or something.

Steve honestly doesn't know how to fix this. A car he could tweak with until he figured something out, but this was a man and this was his life support system. This was something more along the lines of surgery.

Though, he did learn quite a bit in terms of being a field medic.

"I can do my best to patch it up, but you should find a man named Tony Stark, he's- a mechanical engineer, he'd be able to help you," it's the best Steve can offer. Where Tony is right now, he has no idea, but he'll do what he can right now.

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Alex would've said "I'll live" except now he's not even sure if that oil's important or not. He pauses, biting his lip unconsciously as if weighing how he wants to take the hole-in-him business.

"Christ," Alex says simply. He feels a little bit better hearing about this buddy of Steve's, though, because it's a least something and he tells himself that the idea of a mechanical engineer finding the right tools here is something he can worry about later. "I'd appreciate that. And this. The - the repairs."

He stumbles over the word, feeling it unfamiliar in his mouth. Steve seemed too good to be true. He had values, which the Capitol didn't have, and he was offering repairs and water to a total stranger. Alex had seen a lot of crap back in Detroit. A lot of good, too. But he'd never met anyone like Steve and he almost didn't know what to make of him. Alex keeps his arm lifted to give the man some space to work. He'd almost feel better about today if he wasn't left wondering about -

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Steve reaches what he can into the hole, looking for whatever is leaking, seeing if it's a tube he can tie off or something he can plug up. neither seem a good idea, but he really has nothing else to offer. This is nowhere near his area of expertise.

Maybe he if it's a tube he can plug up both ends with one piece of cloth and when saturated with oil will drip down from one tube to the other? It'd be something easy enough to rig and while not the best, it wouldn't entirely stop the flow of the liquid. It'd be something more than what's happening now.

"I haven't, is she a friend?" It's just conversation but then something more important comes to mind. "Is she still out there?"

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"Wife," Alex says with a sigh. "I think so. We were sticking together until the town...well, you saw it."

He's not even sure what to call it. Alex doesn't believe in magic or any of that crap, but he does know he can't explain the walls peeling the way they did.

Alex resists the urge to crane his head and watch Steve work, just looks stonily ahead because he doesn't want to look at the hole in his side and see wiring or oil. Whatever it is that's there instead of skin and blood. He'll assume he knows what he's doing. Maybe it's just like patching up a car, he thinks, and realizes after a few seconds that isn't that reassuring.

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It is like a car, so Steve does his best, but mechanical things were never his forte. Not that Alex needs to know it. He works on rigging the wound and patching it up the best he can, but he knows it'll only go so far.

"Yeah, got separated from them after this heatwave nonsense started," he's especially worried about Bucky. Stark was with Thor, so he doesn't feel much need to worry about them. "I'll be going back out there to look for them, if I see your wife, I'll point her this way."

Well more he'd probably escort her here. It's not a problem, he'll help anyone he runs into, but it's also the least he can do for the man. Who knows how long this patch up will last.

Thread end?

Alex almost smiles. For a second he thinks Steve sounds like his grandpa with the "heatwave nonsense". It's a lot more old school than his dad, who would've just gone with "heatwave bullshit" and called it a day.

"Thanks. I mean it." First Bucky that first night here and then this guy. He can't help but wonder what people like Steve will do as the days go by and the number of Tributes go down. He hopes they keep to their guns. It'd be nice to think they're out there, being a lot better than some of the cops back home and remembering principles, human decency. "Stay safe out there. If you don't find her by tonight, I'll probably head out. Don't want to use up all your water."

Perf

Steve is an old guy, so Alex isn't wrong to make the comparison really.

With the patch job done, he places a hand on Alex's shoulder in a more reassuring way, even if the man can't feel it. He wishes he could do more, but knows there's little chance of it right now at least. He almost waves off the thanks, feeling more needs to be done and not having the means to, but instead he gives a small shake of his head, trying to say it's fine.

"Alright, well, you stay safe yourself. And the water is yours, use it anyway you want," with that, Steve is standing and resituating the bag on his shoulder. He moves for the door, but looks back at Alex, "Good luck."